


Three Cheers and you Lose.

by Goddess_Of_Profanity



Category: yuri on ice
Genre: BoyxBoy, College!AU, Hockey!AU, M/M, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-26 09:10:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9878882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goddess_Of_Profanity/pseuds/Goddess_Of_Profanity
Summary: Yavok Feltsman, a retired NHL coach, is forced into teaching a team of useless, enthusiastic college students. As the hockey team grows closer together, problems develop, and relationships evolve. Will the group be able to hold everything together, or will it all fall apart?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome everyone! If you want any extra ships, or anything to happen with the plot, feel free to comment (I'll read the comments). This is not a oneshot, so they will be more chapters in the future. I'll try my best to post every two days. I hope you enjoy my very first fanfic as much as I loved writing it.

{3rd Person PoV}  
An agitating beeping awoke Yavok Feltsman from his almost peaceful slumber. Lazily, the elderly man tossed in his ivory covers, until he’d had enough of the buzzing, and slapped his hand against the alarm clock miserably. It immediately halted, to his relief.

Sunlight peered through the closed blinds, and slipped into Yakov’s cream painted room. It was a square room, with two windows on the right wall. Forwards, an oak door stood heavily, awaiting to be opened. Yakov’s bed was beside one of the windows. Beside this bed, a bedside table, as most owned, with an alarm clock blaring angrily in his direction.

There were several other objects, and various sets of furniture, such as a closet, and dresser on the left. All in all, Yakov’s room was plain, and dull, as he preferred. According to him, it had a calming effect on his bad temper.

Ardently pushing himself from the tangle of covers, he ripped the door open, and strode into the living room. As his bedroom, this living room was embellished with the same colour scheme. The living room just so happened to be conjoined with the kitchen, which was his main goal to reach.

Picking his way through the furniture, he finally made it to the kitchen. With several grunts in complaint, he gathered his ingredients to make the Holy coffee. After much difficulty, he was finally holding a mug of freshly brewed Joe.

However, Yakov thought this day would simply be another relaxing day in his new retirement. After all, it was well deserved. He had been an NHL coach for ten years, before being forcefully retired. He was dreadfully wrong, as today was not the simple day.

As of thirty minutes after nine, Yavok would have to make his way down to the tacky college rink, and pick from the few hockey players there were. In order to make a team, there would be teamwork, building, and hard work.

Yakov, however, knew he was not the kindest of coaches. Personally, Yavok prayed that this team would have the slightest amount of experience. Sadly, he was in for much more than he asked for.

….. A few hours later…..  
As Yakov shoved the door to the main entrance door to the college, dread gradually settled in, as it always did. Sure, he’d been apprehending the entire tutoring these students since the beginning, but now that he was here, it was a much stronger, overwhelming sensation.  
Without complications, he had checked in, and was shuffling towards the rink. Once he’d reached the crisp, bitter, slight pressure against his cheeks, he realized he had finally reached it. Several students, who he suspected were to be the team, dragged their massive bags through the concrete hallways, until they twisted, and nudged the heavy door open. Their echoing voices, heated in an argument, could be clearly heard from the changing room.

Exhaling his breath with a sigh, he stumbled towards the ice, so he could fully identify the familiar, yet so foreign emotions. They twisted within his stomach, writhing uncomfortably, as he approached the glass. Shuddering softly, at the obscure frigid feeling, crawling up his spine, then descending to his lower back.

Burying deeper into his heavily knit scarf, he shuddered violently, and lifted his gaze to ogle at the perfectly plain ice. Multicoloured boundaries (mainly blue and red) had been painted across the surface neatly, circles, and straight lines. He could feel his eyes widen in surprise, as he consulted the feeling of need. Of course, he wanted to be out there, gliding peacefully, or perhaps aggressively, as he faced the opposing team. Nevertheless, he missed the ice, and instantly regretted ever giving up his love for the ice.

“Ay!” A lengthy, drawled out greeting was shouted in Yakov’s direction.  
“Huh?” He twirled around, and faced a platinum blond boy, who was taller than Yakov himself, smiled warmly, and waved.  
“Hi, I’m Victor Nikiforov. I’m going to be trying out for right wing!**” He introduced himself with excitement.  
Yakov rolled his eyes, and instantly knew Victor was going to be one to disobey commands from his coach. But perhaps, by some miracle, maybe Victor would be a team player, or have a certain strength.

After a several long minutes, the boys had propelled themselves onto the ice, tripping, and falling, over their own feet. Immediately, I knew this was going to be a painfully lengthy season.


End file.
